Will's Latest Case
by paige-after-paige
Summary: A collection of random Hannibal drabbles! Will is shrunk, Hannibal's house is egged... The works. Slight language, and I'll take prompts of almost any sort!
1. Chapter 1

Will Graham opened his eyes blearily. All he saw was blackness. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, for him; waking up in the middle of the night was, unlike the rest of his life, normal. But, the darkness wasn't right. It wasn't the black of midnight, the only light illuminating his navy blue walls being the numbers on his alarm clock- it was the darkness that came with fabric being pulled over one's eyes.

Rubbing his eyes, Will groped around the sheets. They must have made their way over his face during the night, but they seemed to weigh five hundred pounds.

When he finally freed himself from the suffocating clutches of his comforter, he was gasping with exhaustion. Oh, the irony- hell of a lot of comfort it was giving him. Looking flabbergast around his room, he wished he was still asleep.

Said alarm clock, in length, was as big as him.

Will rubbed his eyes again. And again. He felt fear welling up in him, staring at his surroundings like a sinner having a near-death-experience would feel at their first glimpse of hell. He _was_ insane.

How else would anyone explain his situation? The walls looked as tall as the Chrysler building, the lamp at least five times taller than him. He stared up at it, hyperventilating.

'Oh, fuck,' thought Will. 'I've got to call Hannibal.' Crawling to the edge of his ginormous bed, Will gulped. The drop to the floor looked like it would kill him, or at least break his tiny ankles. The jump to his nightstand didn't look much better, but it was preferable.

He walked up the bed to his pillow, struggling among the sheets like a toddler would struggle whilst walking up a sandy dune. When he finally reached it, Will could have hugged it simply for being a relatively flat surface. Eyeing the cordless phone, sitting in its charger on his nightstand, he took a few steps backwards and a running start.

There was a brief period of weightlessness as he flew over the abyss separating the bed and the adjoining piece of furniture. It was slightly calming- unlike the faceplant into the phone.

He did a painful, full-body smash into the phone. It flew off its charger and onto the floor, a terrified FBI investigator hugging it like a baby koala. When it finally hit the ground with a sickening clacking skitter, Will looked up with wide eyes. He almost expected it to bite him.

He stood over the phone, pressing the buttons with a full, tiny hand. Punching out Hannibal's number, relief flooded through him when he heard a familiar Lithuanian accent.

"Doctor Lecter speaking?"

"Hannibal! HELP ME!"

"Will?" His voice remained calm and steady- maddeningly so.

"Yes, it's Will! You have caller ID!"

"Well, I assume you're alright, judging by that response."

Will's tiny eyebrows furrowed on his forehead. "No, I'm not alright! I need help!"

"Whatever for?"

Will took a second to stare down at his arms, which were as thin as caterpillars.

"…I can't really explain it."

He heard a sigh from the other end of the phone. "I'm on my way."

When Hannibal entered Will's house, he looked around the corners without a single expression. "Will?"  
He heard a call from Will's bedroom. "I'm in here!"

Trudging down the hall, following his nose rather than Will's faint voice, he came to the bedroom- and saw nothing. "Will?" he called again. 'If this is a prank,' he thought, 'I think I'll be having Graham crackers for dessert."

"Down here!"

Hannibal looked down at his feet. He said nothing.

Will stared up at him, neck craned all the way back to see his psychiatrist's face. He couldn't make eye contact even if he wanted to, in this situation. "Hannibal, you've gotta help me."

"…This much is obvious."

"I think I'm going insane, Dr. Lecter. Everything looks one hundred times bigger, I feel as big as a fairy-"

Hannibal knelt down, looking only mildly concerned. "Well, Will… I can at least reassure you that you're not insane."

"What? Don't tell me I'm actually 5 inches tall," Will tried to joke, but the panic was visible in his eyes.

"It's more like three inches, actually."

The dogs, laying out in the living room, perked their ears up as they heard a resounding "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Bellow through the house.

About forty five minutes later, Will was at Hannibal's impressive house. The car ride had been interesting- the seat belt was much too big, so he sat on Hannibal's shoulder. It was much easier to hear the three-inch-tall man from that position.

"Hannibal, my only explanation for this is that one of us drank too much mushroom tea last night." Will sipped the hot chocolate that Hannibal had graciously poured into a thimble. They'd had dinner at the psychiatrist's house last night, after Will had become especially distraught over a case. After the meal, Hannibal had offered him some sketchy tea to calm his nerves, and a ride home. Will had fallen asleep halfway through the drive, and woke up in his present situation.

"Mhm," Hannibal replied simply, just staring a hole in Will. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable. The only thing running through the good doctor's mind was, 'Good Lord, it actually worked.'

Although the tea had been experimental, alas and alack for Will; it wasn't made from mushrooms. Rather, a rather complicated and extremely little known recipe from his Lithuanian Grandmother. Funnily enough, she'd gotten some innocent women locked up on the charges of being witches- Hannibal's bloodline had a habit of hiding their acts by manipulation and creation of blame on others. A few obscure ingredients mixed with some even more obscure spellwork had led to Will's current size.

Will stared into his thimble, distraught. Hannibal couldn't help but find it adorable. "Do you think it'll wear off?"

"I'm not exactly an expert on this, William."

"I'm sorry. I've been really rude to you this morning."

"Perfectly understandable," Hannibal said, pensively stirring coffee with a spoon as big as Will. "I don't know if it will wear off, Will. We can only hope, and find the cause of your… smallness."

"I feel like Alice in Wonderland." Will took a final swig of hot chocolate, holding the thimble up with both hands. His doctor didn't reply.

The next few days, Will relied solely on Hannibal for everything. No one but him knew of Will's current predicament, and he planned to keep it that way. Hannibal carried him around in the pocket of his suit, which normally held his perfectly folded pocket square- now, a timid, curly head could be seen poking out of it.

The smallness started to wear off. Hannibal had taken to measuring him, his back against a ruler, and found that he grew two inches every day. Thankfully, no stretch marks had shown up yet.

Hannibal's mind, however, apart from caring for the angry little munchkin, was ablaze with recipes. Oh, the possibilities! He silently blessed his grandmother. Think of the bite-sized muffins he could make. He could literally grow his meal to the appropriate size, cultivating it to pure deliciousness, before making them into a beautiful dish. His fingers twitched with the desire to cook something bloody.

When Will finally reached four feet tall, he returned home. Hannibal had taken time out of his busy days to feed Will's dogs, which sniffed at Will curiously, while he was gone. Now, he only had to stay confined in his house until he was the right size again.

The biggest sigh of relief in history escaped Will's lips when he finally looked in the mirror one morning, never loving his 5'11 stance so much. However, that relief was gone the following morning.

"Hannibal?!"

Hannibal sighed over the phone. "Yes, Will?"

"I. KEEP. GROWING."

Hannibal put a weary palm to his face. "I'll be right there."

Ah, well. There's always a price to curiosity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lecter v.s. Graham**

**A/N: Oh my goODNESS, PEOPLE REVIEWED MY RANDOM DRABBLE WHAT**

**Can I just hug all of you?**

**Blanc-pourpre: Awwh, thank you! Glad to make you laugh! I'll dedicate a gigantic Will chapter to you, somewhere along the way.**

**Ixi: Why thank you! I just imagine Will poking his big blue eyes out while Hannibal has a patient, and Hannibal forcibly pushing him back in. Ehehehe.**

**BlueNeutrino: ...I honestly do not know. Will is a cute little teacup as he is... Just imagine him bite sized! *melts* Glad you enjoyed.**

**I've decided that "Will's Latest Case" will be a big cacophony of random mini-stories, each one a separate chapter that have nothing to do with each other. (Or I may come back to one story later on, and continue- the possibilities are endless.) Also, I would love chapter prompts or plot bunnies from you people!**

**Anyway, after that horrendously long note, enjoy!**

* * *

It had been running through Will's mind for days.

His psychiatrist seemed to be rather easygoing, though his emotions were nearly impossible to read- Hannibal was the only person whose head Will could not get into. The one time he tried, he felt as if he were in a pitch black labyrinth. Whether that was a sign that Hannibal had a dangerously dark way of thinking, or just the complexity that came along with sharp intelligence, Will didn't know. Either way, it didn't stop him from wanting to prank the good doctor. His curiosity, often plagued and beat down by the FBI's gruesomely dreary cases, was alive and kicking today. How would Hannibal react?

He would soon find out. Driving to Dr. Lecter's house in the dead of night, he pulled out the key Hannibal had given him. It was ornate and perfectly polished- well, before Will had owned it, anyway- was everything Hannibal owned so ridiculously perfect?

He snuck into the house, making sure that neither the door nor the floorboards squeaked. Slipping off his shoes, Will padded around the downstairs rooms without a sound. When he got to the stairs, Will tested his foot gingerly on the step- thankfully, it didn't creak either. Making his way upstairs without incident, Will poked his head in each of the rooms. Seriously, why were there so many rooms? And, so perfectly furnished? The guy lived alone, for God's sakes!

Finally, he found Hannibal's room. The psychiatrist was in a deep sleep, lying on his back with his fingers interlaced together on his chest. In the dark, it looked rather eerie; like a corpse. Will knew how to fix that, though.

With the hugest grin possible on his face, Will pulled out a brand new bottle of hot pink, neon, glow in the dark nail polish. He'd planned for this night for many a moon, knowing how much of a freaking ninja his psychiatrist was. If you made one noise while Hannibal was asleep, he would bolt upright and slit your throat in less than a second. With a chair. That was on fire.

That was why he'd brought manicure supplies, gloves (in case Hannibal tried to dust his own skin for fingerprints due to the heinous crime), a tiny, soundless fan, and perfume. He'd gotten it stealthily from Victoria's Secret. Dang, that store was expensive- Hannibal better appreciate this effort!

He took Hannibal's hand with the touch of a feather, holding it in his left as he painted with his right. It was less than perfect, and in some places he'd completely missed the nail. Oh, well- he was a man, after all! Putting a fluffy foam contraption between the doctor's long, bony fingers to keep his handiwork from smudging, he started on the other hand. Will almost jumped through the roof when Hannibal made a sleepy snuffle in his slumber. But, when he looked at Dr. Lecter's fabulously glowing nails, he had to bite the sleeve of his coat to stop from giggling like a maniac. He'd planned to soak Lecter's hands in rosewater, but he knew all too well what happened when a hand was placed in water during sleep- so instead, he dusted perfume over Hannibal's beautiful, yet questionable looking hands. They smelled of "spring lily sunshine", now.

Gathering his supplies and admiring his handiwork a bit more, Will skedaddled out of the house, doubling over in laughter when his feet hit the road. Getting into his car, still chortling, Will hoped he wouldn't be stabbed in the foot the next day.

* * *

Hannibal woke up to the sounds of birds chirping outside his window. It was a pleasant sound- he heard a mockingbird or two, and saw a cardinal flit past when he turned his head to the window. He also smelled something out of place within his house. A girly, flirtatious scent. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, but didn't think about it too much. Mornings were not Dr. Lecter's strong suit.

He groggily stepped into his shower with a leaden foot. Washing his hair with some European brand of shampoo, he scrubbed himself to immaculateness before getting out. He toweled himself off, and headed for the sink to shave his slowly-approaching stubble. Coating the lower half of his face with the fluffy shaving cream, he picked up a razor of the sink and positioned it on his face, looking in the mirror- and that's when he saw it.

It was monstrous. It was absolutely, grotesquely traumatizing. His nails were PINK. Not just a common, flower pink- but an attention seeking news reporter's handbag, pink. THEY WERE NEON.

"Will Graham, I will asphyxiate you."

Later in the day, as he had no appointments that evening, Hannibal planned out his revenge. He went to the nearest animal shelter on the claim of looking into adoption- instead, he took a camera. Will might kill himself- but hey, he'd brought this upon himself.

He wasn't about to go out in public with bright pink nails, so he'd had to call Alana. He remembered their conversation with much distaste.

"…What do you need nail polish remover for?"

Hannibal took a deep, steadying breath. "I… was pranked."

"Did Will…?"

"Bright. Neon. Pink."

Alana had nearly wet herself laughing, as he expected Will had done. He wouldn't be laughing soon.

Standing a reasonable length back from the cages lined up against the walls, Hannibal positioned his high-definition camera to capture each and every puppy in the shelter. He made sure to catch them while they looked the most miserable.

He went to four or five animal shelters- he lost count after the third animal institution. The real fun would begin when he got back home, but he had one more stop to make on the way there- the post office. He would need about five hundred envelopes.

* * *

Will, after a hard day of criminal profiling at Quantico, drove home in a comforting lull. He hadn't heard from Hannibal yet, and wondered if he was going to get the silent treatment. That would be rather interesting, at their weekly Thursday sessions.

When he got home, he reached into his deep pocket for his house key. Turning the lock, he wasn't prepared for what he saw inside.

Stacks upon stacks of envelopes were everywhere. On every table, wedged in between the couch cushions, taped to the ceiling-

"What the ever-loving…?!'

A single envelope, sitting atop a stack in plain sight on the kitchen counter, had his name on it. Of course, it had Hannibal's obnoxiously perfect cursive on the front. Tearing it open, Will read with increasing horror;

_"My dear Will,_

_Thank you for the manicure. It was much appreciated. I regret to say that your actions called for severe repercussions, as you can see. May I explain your situation to you?_

_To put it simply, your dogs are gone- and only I know where they are. There are around five hundred envelopes hidden all over your house, but only one holds the whereabouts of your furry companions. (Don't worry, no harm will come to them. Yet.)_

_Your ever-compassionate friend,_

_Hannibal Lecter, M.D."_

Will stared around his house in horror. "HANNIBAL, YOU SADIST!"

After three hours of opening letters and nearly bawling his eyes out, Will had finally recovered his dogs. Hannibal had abducted them, leaving them at Alana Bloom's house. Alana was practically dying with mirth when Will got there, his tears only making her laughter pause momentarily.

"I never thought- I'd see two adult men-" She wheezed. "-FBI consultants- haviNG A PRANK WAR oh my God."

Will didn't speak to her as he grabbed his dogs' leashes, hauling the tongue-wagging fiends out the door. He would not stand for this.

At the grocery store, the clerk looked with wide eyes upon Will's purchase. The special investigator had filled two entire shopping carts full of egg cartons. "…That'll be sixty four dollars and eighty cents." He said, more like asking than telling.

Will shelled out the money, and started for the exit with the most determined look on his face that he expected he'd ever have.

The cashier called after him, "Can I ask why you have so many eggs, sir…?"

Calling back in a low growl, Will replied, "I'm on a mission!"

* * *

The two men's houses were taking rather a lot of abuse- Will's had been overloaded with hurtful mail, much like Harry's Hogwarts letters in the J.K. Rowling series. Hannibal's was about to be decimated with pure egg.

He'd made sure that Hannibal wouldn't be home, as he wanted the suit wearing man to get the full effect of his masterpiece whilst going up the driveway. And, what a masterpiece it was.

Egg dripped off every single window, and the shutters were covered in a mysterious gloppy substance- you guessed it, egg. Will had made sure to crack at least three eggs on the door handle, so the perfectionist of a cook would soil his clean hands. That was when he closed the front door behind him, however, after defiling the inside as well.

Will had made such a mess. While this, by itself, was a capital offense in Hannibal's book of courtesy, Will had gone even farther.

Not only had he orchestrated an explosion of raw egg inside Hannibal's house, and placed uncracked eggs on floor just inside the front door, waiting to be stepped on. He had taken nine full cartons of eggs… to Hannibal's kitchen.

The oven was filled with yellowish, clear goo. The walls dripped with egg, and mimicking Hannibal's touch with the envelopes, even dripped from the ceiling. A few uncracked eggs stuck up there with Scotch tape as well, just waiting to fall on a certain psychiatrist. There were uncracked eggs on every square inch of the floor, impossible to avoid. The dishwasher was full to bursting with eggs, and he'd microwaved a few eggs as well. He'd never done that before, but through careful (yeah, right) experimentation, Will observed that they exploded. In a shower of yellow and white confetti. Depressing puppy pictures called for desperate action. Will had even filled each and every one of Hannibal's monogrammed socks with a pristine, perfect little egg. And last, for comic relief… He'd made a single scrambled egg in a skillet on Dr. Lecter's stove.

Oh, Will knew he was going to pay for this one- but he didn't care.

* * *

When Lecter stepped inside his house, he took one look around and walked straight out again. No. Will had gone too far- he had desecrated Hannibal's supreme place of worship. It was all over for that curly headed fool.

Will was grinning maniacally to himself as he drove back home. He could just imagine Hannibal, hyperventilating as he stared at his once-perfect kitchen in the utmost state of disarray. He did not imagine, though, what Hannibal was actually doing.

No cops had pulled Dr. Lecter over for his extreme violation of the speed limit- though he'd turned a forty five minute drive into a fifteen minute one. With a few raucous splashes of gasoline and a few feisty matches, Will's house went up in flames like Hannibal's dreams of a clean kitchen. He climbed back into his shiny black car, gunning it back to his mansion, while the bonfire crackled behind him. Lecter got a call about an hour later, from a distraught Alana.

"Hannibal, Will's house was one fire. We put it out before too much damage was caused, but please, PLEASE tell me you did not do this."

"What? No, I would never! Pranking is one thing, Alana, but arson is another. Frankly, I'm offended."

"I'm sorry, Hannibal. We're just stressed."

"No worries at all. Any sign of what caused the fire?"

"None yet, but we're thinking the classic gasoline." He could hear Alana's weary sigh, and could almost see her run a tired hand through her hair.

"Give Will my sincerest condolences. Good luck." The click of the portable phone into the charger was the sophisticated doctor's personal victory screech. Ain't nobody messing with Hannibal Lecter's kitchen.


End file.
